


a substitute for inspiration

by wrenkos



Series: our thoughts are ours alone (ndrv3 character studies) [3]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenkos/pseuds/wrenkos
Summary: (Maybe idiots can’t relate to geniuses about working while you sleep, is all.)She doesn’t sleep that night, either, but she doesn’t care.





	a substitute for inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> ndrv3 spoilers up to chapter 4  
> tw for intrusive thoughts and the ingame deaths

Miu Iruma used to work until her hands were dusty and dirty and something that would leave people like Toujou gagging. She used to stay up late, work until she passed out, wake up again, and returned to work. All nighter after all nighter and coffee cup after coffee cup until she’d have a ringing headache and hands so shaky she’d be forced to take a break.

Weak, she would think, she would think herself a weak slug, but have to agree that, shit, beauty sleep was really nice sometimes. But that flash of inspiration (ha! What other things flash, she would think) would only last so long, and then she’d be left to chase it.

And then she would think, what poetic shit is that, that it was some Shakespearean shit, some absolute bullshit you’d find a high schooler write on a poem analysis. And you know what? Maybe she should write it down in her pile of ideas and notebooks. Maybe that quote, alongside her inventions, would really change the world for the better.

Changing the world for the better.

She wanted to make inventions that would change the world. Just because she didn’t use to be who she was before doesn’t mean that she can’t change the world. In fact, it just meant she was closer to doing so than anybody else around her.

So even on nights that her body would scream at her to sleep, even on nights when the thunder was so loud it almost threatened to take the house down, she would keep on working, because she was Miu fucking Iruma, dammit, and she was going to change the world with her inventions, no matter what.

* * *

The Killing Game is a terrifying, fucked up thought, and the bastard behind it is a total piece of shit who she sincerely hopes will never, ever get laid and just lives a lonely life and dies the fuck alone.

But she can’t deny that her Ultimate Lab, as the weirdass bear with the even weirder-asser design and it’s children (why the fuck did a robot bear get laid and had children, and even five of the little buggers, anyways?) is actually pretty cool. But pretty creepy at the same time.

Because, honestly, who the absolute fuck would know her preferences down to what brand of towel she usually used to wipe the grime off her hands? That was just creepy as fuck. Like something Shitgoopee or whatever the fuck his name was would do, because she was getting major weirdo vibes from him. Fuck anthropology, or folklore, or whatever in the anime god’s name that Shittygane praised that he had said his talent was, the dude was an Ultimate Heebie Jeebie giver, case closed. At least Titjou or whatever the maid girl was called was classy. She could be goth and actually not creepy as fuck, why couldn’t he?

But, classmates aside, she hasn’t had that flash of inspiration yet. She hates it. 15 new, highly-skilled slugs to meet, and her mind hasn’t thought of a single thing that she can work with?

She wants to call bullshit, but she can’t.

(At least the robot is hella neat.)

There’s a certain stage in thinking about what to do where your mind just goes blank and absolutely refuses to cooperate with you and she hates it with a burning passion, but here she is, because it’s back.

But there’s something about that feeling that makes her brain scream that a flash of inspiration is about to hit her like a freight train. And the feeling is like reaching for that flash but it’s slipping and running off to god-knows-where, and she’ll be left feeling bored and tired and useless.

* * *

Kaede Akamatsu and Shuichi Saihara approach her with an idea of a camera.

She cackles and laughs; calls it a stupid idea and then Kaede raises her voice above regular speaking volume and gets down on her hands and knees and then she thinks, you know what? Never mind, it’s a good fucking idea and she’ll make the fucking camera.

When Shyhara brings her the necessary pieces to create it she feels the flash of inspiration for a moment, and grabs the cameras and sensor like she wants to grab that light; grab that feeling.

This time, it doesn’t slip through her fingers.

* * *

There are no crickets here and it’s creepy as hell.

Sometimes, when she works, she used to listen to the pitter-patter of the rain and the crash of thunder, but neither of that is there. It’s just silence and she hates it.

But she doesn’t hate the cameras she works on, and although she has no fucking clue on what they’ll be used for, she’ll make them.

Changing the world with her gorgeous girl genius brains starts with idiots first, after all. Look where her eyedrops got her - grabbing the attention of idiots.

(She thinks, that invention was just a warm-up, and she thinks that the world is too idiotic to acknowledge her inventions that let you do stuff in your sleep.)

(Because doing things in her sleep would honestly be a lot more fucking healthier and not to mention easier for her, because sometimes her head rings and her place is cluttered and messy but it’s manageable. Because dammit, she’s Miu fucking Iruma, the gorgeous girl genius, and she won’t let a little lack of sleep stop her.)

(Maybe idiots can’t relate to geniuses about working while you sleep, is all.)

She doesn’t sleep that night, either, but she doesn’t care.

* * *

She hands the cameras and equipment over to Saihara with a big grin on her face. God, she has absolutely no idea what the hell this thing is for, but there are 30 second intervals between the photo taking and she had no sleep at all.

“Thank you. Again, sorry for making you--”

“Quit apologizing already! I fucking love coffee anyways! It wakes you the fuck up!”

“...Ah. O-Okay.”

* * *

She finds that there is still some inspiration left after making the cameras.

Inspiration is a funny thing - you work on something, complete it, there’s satisfaction. But sometimes, the inspiration to make things just doesn’t really go away.

(Not that she’s complaining; it’s fucking great.)  

She finds that this applies to this case too. Having that light still in your hands, however small, is a great feeling. Even if it’s a little flame, it’s not a firework yet, it will turn into one.

The cameras here, she found out, are actually pretty decent - like something higher than the dollar store expectation but definitely not the best to exist.

Well, it’s free. Who doesn’t like free shit?

“Fuck it,” she says, and stands up from her bed, “I’m making a goddamn drone.”

* * *

“Yeah, yeah, no need to announce you need to go piss. Or, or! Is it a number two?”

She doesn’t look up from the drone to be - man, attaching a camera to this thing was taking longer than she thought it would take - but she can tell by the way nobody responds that Shittgane, Titjou, and Shitgoopee all go silent at that.

(Cowards.)

“...Iruma-san,” Toujou says slowly, (and she can tell by the way her tone is slightly hesitant that the maid has a forced smile on) setting down a plate of spaghetti on the table next to her, “...Please don’t.”

“Thank you, Toujou-san,” Shinguuji mumbles through the mask (hey, how the fuck is he going to eat that? She’s tempted to ask but the guy is creepy as fuck.) “Iruma-san, please refrain from making those comments.”

Shirogane laughs, (is she trying to hide the fact that she’s forcing it or not?) “Um. I’ll. I’ll go.”

* * *

She stares at green.

At pink.

At green and pink.

At head and blood.

At Rantaro Amami and shot put ball.

(At a dead body.)

How unnatural, that looks. How _wrong,_ that looks. Like a prototype that just screams failure; like a draft that is meant to be crumpled and tossed out.

She bites her lip. Above his head she spots duct tape and her modified camera.

So, her inventions were put to use.

But at what cost?

* * *

Akamatsu is executed.

This is so, so wrong, she thinks.

A few days before, Akamatsu had given her inspiration to work, and now, she’s not here anymore. She’s crushed.

She laughs.

It’s nervous, it’s a laughing reflex, it sounds ugly and frightened and wrong. It is all of the above. She wants to cry, because how else are you supposed to react to this?

Her mind is screaming. She cannot think of anything other than that this never should have happened because the world is shit but it isn’t _supposed_ to be like this. It’s a dumpster but it’s not supposed to be this trashy.

(Give her the hardships of exams; the pain of being late to class; the shit highschoolers do.)

(Not two fucking dead bodies.)

It could of been her, on the floor of that library. It could have been her, dead dead dead, if they all voted wrong.

She finds that there is a new feeling in her head.

Fear.

* * *

She has two revelations.

One, that the fear is always there. It’s like a sitting feeling at the bottom of her stomach, that swishes like water in a half empty bottle every time she moves her feet. It’s like releasing a sentient balloon into a room full of pins and needles in every direction, wall, and space.

Two, that she feels the need to do _something,_ but it’s not by inspiration. No, it’s by fear, it’s by anxiety, it’s by her brain screaming at her to do something. Anything.

Her hands shake and she feels so useless. She has never seen a dead body before and now she has seen two, and that’s two too many.

She doesn’t sleep that night, either.

* * *

“Hey, Kiibo!” She shouts the next day, like shouting will just whoosh all her insecurities away, just like that, “How do you feel about an upgrade?”

* * *

She installs light onto his eyes because the basement floor is dark, because the library is located in the basement, because night is dark, because the murder happened at night, because nighttime is so quiet that her thoughts get louder and louder and louder and because they won’t just shut up already.

She installs cameras into his eyes because she is too scared that next time, the cameras won’t be able to capture the truth, either, because she is too scared that maybe one day she will be dead and they’ll need something to remember her by, because she is downright terrified that something will go wrong, wrong, wrong and they won’t know because nobody saw.

“Thank you, Iruma-san! I don’t think I have the words to express how grateful I am right now!”

(She thinks, she’s very grateful too, because now some of the insecurities have shut up and gone away.)

* * *

Fear says, _guess who's back, bitch._

She wants to scream because the magic show was something she was actually looking a little forward to. Because magic was actually fucking cool.

A dead body (body? No, there's no body. It's just bones at the bottom of the floor and she wants to throw up), on the other hand, is not cool.

* * *

Fear plus nervousness plus a dead body plus the unsettling feeling of having your boots in water makes her want to throw up. When Saihara asks her if she has an alibi she wants to vomit on his shoes.

She couldn’t even think of anything to say, so she just stares blankly at him and spouts some nonsense and lets her mouth run wild.

* * *

She understands why she did it, _fuck_ , it makes sense, but it feels so unreal. So wrong. Like something else was supposed to happen but it didn’t and now they’re all waiting for the ‘jokes on you’ card to be pulled but it’s not happening.  

Kirumi is the fucking president? She had the president come up with ideas for her? She _asked_ the fucking _president of Japan_ to come up with _ideas for her?_

This is just so wrong.

* * *

A day passes and another one falls.

She sits on her bed and her brain is screaming, because Kirumi’s screams and the thud of her shoes against the floor in her wild sprint echoes in her ears, and the sickening crunch when she hit the ground is repeating, repeating, repeating. Kirumi in her head must have fallen a thousand times over and over and over and over.

If you wanted to get rid of a loop you’d just delete the code, she thinks. It would be that simple, that easy, and she wants to scream and yell and shove her hands into her shit programmed brain full of bugs and things that shouldn’t be there and just delete, delete, delete. Delete all the stupid things that are making her nervous and panic and make her want to throw up at everything and anything.

* * *

She looks at papers in her hands.

It is dead at night and her mind has yelled at her so much to get up and move around and do something that she does so.

(She cannot sleep and she knows that she will not sleep tonight, and if she does, she will wake with the images of a ball at the head covered in blue; the image of a rope pulling and pulling; the image of water that is pink and thick with blood and fish; the image of a fall from grace and death.)

On the paper is writing. On the paper are ideas for an invention. On the paper are ideas that were meant to help her in reaching that light.

On it is writing.

It’s Kirumi’s neat, clear writing.

It’s the President of Japan’s neat, clear writing.

It’s a dead girl’s neat, clear writing.

She tears it up to little bits and pieces and flushes it down the toilet.

(She doesn’t need it anymore.)

(She can’t look at it anymore.)

* * *

There is a computer room, she finds, and she has the urge to tinker with it. One look at the code, though, and it tells her that doing so will be harder than she thought it would be.

But this is a virtual reality. There is a pre-programmed virtual reality at her fingertips. A base, if you will. A base for anything she wants to put in.  

For once, she feels that flash, but it is shaky and weak and its flame is flickering like she’s moments from blowing it out.

She grabs hold of it, and she thinks, yeah, this is what she needs.

An escape.

* * *

Kokichi Ouma approaches her with several slips of paper. Actually, approach is too tame of a word - the boy walks up to her and shoves the papers into her hands.

(Why the fuck is this short teenager who looks like a swizzle stick so strong when he does that?)

“What the fuck?”

“Inventions.”

She looks down at her hands. There’s drawings in crayon. A vacuum, a bomb, a hammer, a remote.

“I could have fucking drawn these better with my eyes closed and with only my mouth. How fucking old are you, two?”

He beams, “At heart!”

“That was an insult, dipshit. You--”

“Gosh, won’t you just shut up already? I know it was an insult, that’s why I responded that way, you slug.”

“I--”

“Anyways! Pretty please, _please_ make these!”

“What is - _oh,_ ” she grins, “Oh, I see. This is some kinky sex shit, right?! Don’t know what sort of fucked up things you can do with--”

“This is to end the killing game.”

She blinks.

“Iruma-chan,” Ouma says, and his tone is flat and he looks her right in the eye and this would be a legitimately threatening situation had he not been so short but his look seems so wrong, “I have a plan, but I’m not the Ultimate Inventor. I don’t have the ability to make these with ease. Only you can make these, and then we can escape.”

“With a vacuum?”

He gives her a look.

She stares back.

(Why the fuck is this little gremlin so hard to read?)

“...Fine, Kokishit,” she groans, “I’ll make your fucking crayola drawings.”

“Aw, thanks, Iruma-chan! You’re the _beeeeest_.”

* * *

She finds that she, in fact, is not the best.

Because her mind is having several revelations at once and neither of them are really any good.

Firstly, that even good people can betray you.

Kaede was a good person. She killed somebody. With good intentions, yes, but she killed somebody, and if it was her in that library she’d be dead, dead, dead because it was the wrong person.

Toujou was also a good person. She was nice. She was formal. She was an Ultimate maid for a reason. And when they all had their backs turned she held Hoshi’s head under water and left him to be eaten by piranhas.

So, really, that meant that only she could trust herself. Because everybody here could kill. No matter how nice. No matter how weird. They could kill.

(And fear was having a field trip with that thought.)

Secondly, that the virtual reality - Neo World Program, as it’s titled - is a killing game, too. And when she has just finished deleting whatever store is called a “Titty Typhoon” out from the data, she has a thought.

She can kill somebody with this. Program for it to happen.

Her fingers twitch, and she bites her lip, and leaves for her lab to work on Ouma’s weird inventions.

She doesn’t like that she is feeling the need to do something without feeling that flash of inspiration.

She doesn’t like that fear can be used as a substitute for inspiration.

* * *

She works on Ouma’s projects during the day and works on the Neo Word Program at night.

She makes sketches in her lab and hangs them up on the wall. The easy shit, she decides, will be done first.

She figures that if they're done last and the hard stuff (hahaha, she's hilarious! And it’s totally not just something to try to lighten the mood and try to distract her from all of this stress and the fear that this day might be your last!) is done first, working on the Neo World program and hammers will be hell.

* * *

She finds that Ouma's sketches and crayon doodles are actually quite detailed. There's pointers, but she still has to make blueprints for all of them.

* * *

 

She's tempted to skip breakfast because the cult shit is getting creepy as fuck. She never would have thought that she would agree with Shinguuji on something, but here she was. Apparently he had standards on cults or not, too.

She eats her breakfast quickly. She just wants to leave and go back to work already.

* * *

“Oi, Kokishit.”

“Hmm, hmm? Does Iruma-chan maybe, just maybe, have something for me?”

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah, yeah, don’t act like you didn’t ask for this, you fucking rat.”

“Aw, a rat? Is that the best you can come up with? You’re a piece of shit, you know, you’re a dumpster, you know? Dumpster doesn’t even cut it! Shit doesn’t even cut it! You’re a whole different category of fuck and messed up, you know, you know?”

(Does he _want_ her to hate him or something?)

She bites her lip, “Okay, bitch, go fetch.”

“Huuaah? What’s this--”

She chucks the remote, and she finds that he’s actually good at running. Huh. She doesn’t know what to make of it, honestly, he’s got stubby legs and he could honestly probably trip on the straps on his pants, so who would have guessed?  

“Oh, oh! The remote! We can get the existals with this, riiiiight?”

“There’s still two existals left, virgin! You can button mash the fuck out of them, but those huge-ass fuckers will just fuck you right in the asshole anyways with their own commands.”

“Aww. But that’s what the hammers are for, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“By the way,” he inspects the remote, “How many hammers are you making?”

“How much do you think? Or did you get fucked so hard last night that you forgot everyt--”

“Could you make five? Preeetty please?”

She squints at him, “Why in the fuck would you need five--”

“Come _on,_ shut the fuck up! Just do it or I’ll kill you!”

(She winces.)

“Ugh, fine.”

“Thanks! You’re the best, Iruma-chan!”

“Yeah, yeah. You fucking owe me, you little shit. I’m only doing this because there’s nothing that I, the gorgeous girl genius, Miu Iruma, can’t do!”

* * *

“By the way, Iruma-san,” Angie spins on her heel, “You’ve been going out at night to work on the computer, hmm, hmm?”

“Y-Yeah? W-What the hell are you trying to say to me, you s-shady cult bitch?”  

“Kami-sama says that nobody should be going out at night, Iruma-san,” Angie laughs, and it sends chills down her spine because this girl creeps her out so, so much. “Nyahaha, and Iruma-san doesn’t want to invoke the Student Council’s wrath, right? Right?”

“Yeah, Iruma-san,” Shittygane cheers and claps her hands, “Listen to Yonaga-san! She’s the only one here who can listen to the voice of the handsome, black haired and red eyed god!”

(What the fuck? Is that drool?)

“W-Well, fuck you too, bitch!”

“Kami-sama says you shouldn’t use language like that, Iruma-san! Nyahaha!”

“W-Whatever. You and your fucking cult isn’t going to listen to me, and I’m not gonna fucking listen to you and your fucking cult unless you get down o-on your fucking knees and beg like a dog!”

* * *

Now there is a cult, on top of everything. Lovely!

She manages to slip into her lab instead, but her mind wanders nevertheless. She finds herself thinking about the Neo World Program. She’s just about halfway done with getting rid of the weapons in the code, but now whenever she goes on there’s a bigger meaning to the word “escapism”.

(Escape from this hell for real--)

Now, whenever she adjusts the code she is acutely aware that nobody else there, except maybe Shittygane because she’s played video games, know how the code works. She could lie to them.

Her hands shake ever so slightly.

The idea isn’t born from inspiration. It isn’t genuine. It’s like buying a cracked mirror and expecting it to do its job well. It’s like applying cold water to a burn a droplet at a time. It’s like working on the details of a project and then tearing it to bits and pieces the moment it is complete.

It’s wrong. Different. Incorrect. Not right. It’s all of those things.

She hates it, she hates it, she hates it.

Oh, she fucking hates it so, so much.

The idea is born from fear; from nervousness; from the voice in her head that tells her that every day may be her last. That she will piss off the cult and they will choose her to die. That somebody will betray her, like Akamatsu did and like Toujou did. She is terrified that one day will be her last and she will not be alive anymore.

Because here, all deaths are not “merciful”. The only merciful was Rantaro’s, because it was quick. The rest were not quick.

The rest made them suffer.

And if she can get out --

_And if she can get out --_

_If?_

_No, when? No, should? No, a possibility? No, perhaps? No, a thought? No, a suggestion?_

_No, a plan?_

_But, who? Yes, who? No, who?_

_What?_

She is shaking and sweating and she drops the screwdriver she has in her hand and it clatters and it’s loud and she flinches.

(Why did that make her flinch? Why did she drop it? Why was she so weak? Why couldn’t she do this? Why is she like this? Why? Why? Why?)

She can feel the tears welling up because she doesn't know what to do, doesn’t know how to think, feel, speak, act.

Doesn’t know how all the others are so damned calm about this; doesn’t know how Angie Yonaga has created a cult in a week, doesn’t know how Korekiyo Shinguuji stays so collected, doesn’t know how Kokichi Ouma makes himself so hard to read, doesn’t know how Shuichi Saihara stays so level headed, doesn’t know how Himiko Yumeno is keeping herself together, doesn’t know how Maki Harukawa hasn’t killed anybody yet, doesn’t know how Kaito Momota can stay so fucking positive at this time.  

She doesn’t know. Right now, at that moment, at the dead of night in her lab in her thoughts, she knows nothing and nobody anymore. It is just her, her thoughts, the silence she wants but cannot have because it will not come to her.

 _I can’t fucking do this,_ she thinks, _I can’t fucking do this shit anymore._

Miu Iruma knows she is falling apart.

* * *

She wakes from the morning announcement but finds herself falling back asleep.

But she jolts back awake when the words “a body has been discovered” ring throughout the room.

(For a moment, she thinks, _was it I who kicked the bucket?_ )

* * *

No, it’s not her. It’s Angie Yonaga, and she doesn’t know to feel about that.

* * *

They’re holding a fucking seance?

“Count me the fuck out,” she snorts, “I don’t need any more cult shit.”

* * *

Chabashira is dead now, she thinks.

Why the fuck did she die?

(Could it have been her instead, if things played out differently? If a code was altered? If a screw fell loose in this machine of a world of a hell of a killing game?)

* * *

 

She sees Kiibo’s function being used, and for a moment feels a flash of pride. It was her who installed it. It was her who helped, then.

“Fucking get ‘em, Keebs,” she cackles, “Time to show off your new trick!”

* * *

Case point, closed, guilty as charged.

Shinguuji is boiled alive and she finds herself thinking that the creep is dead.

(So, she was too vulgar for him?)

(So, the plan to push others away with that arrogant front worked?)

* * *

“Oi, oi, you little fucking gremlin.”

“I’m not Hoshi, Iruma-chan!”

She makes a face of disgust. Eurgh. She hates this kids guts. “Did I fucking say you were Hoshi? Fuck no.”

“Aww, is Iruma-chan actually bothered by that?”

“F-Fuck off,” she grumbled, balling her hands into fists, “A-Anyways, I’ve gotten the hammers done.”

“Really?! It’s been _so_ long, I thought you up and forgot about it!”

“S-Shut the fuck up, shortsticks!”

“But, but…” Kokichi pressed a finger to his cheek, “I did ask for the vacuum too, right, right? When will that be done?”

“Just have some goddamn fucking patience, you fucking virgin,” she snorts, “I’ll be done when I want them to be done!”

* * *

She finds herself working on the Neo World Program more than she works on the vacuum. It’s not really a big deal, though, but at the same time it kind of is when her brain is just screaming at her to do something.

She doesn’t like that she has the idea of creating a loop, that allows her and her only to go through anywhere she wants on the map.

She knows that if she wanted to, she could twist all the rules in her favor. She could have total control of the world, and cover everything up and nobody would know.

But she doesn’t know. Because everything could go haywire and then she could die, right? But at the same time, she could lie to all of them and have the one who always figured out lies to be dead, right? And then everybody else would just die, right?

She bites her lip and chews it.

She wants these thoughts to get out of her head.

* * *

She types in another line of code with shaky hands.

It’s okay if she doesn’t use it, she tells herself. It’s just as a precaution. Because she doesn’t know if she actually wants to kill somebody, right?

And yet, she doesn’t stop typing, and her fingers don’t stop shaking.

* * *

She puts the headset on and thinks, time for a test run. There is snow on the ground and it’s cold.

Being able to feel temperature - check.

She brings the phone she has out of her pocket and slams it on the ground. It makes a thud. She stamps her foot on it, and there is no cracking sound.

Objects cannot break - check.

She does a walk around the world.

Everything going smoothly - check.

She reaches a black wall and stares at it. Very hesitantly, she takes the hammer out of her pocket and throws it.

It hits the wall and then disappears.

Objects being able to pass through the wall - check.

She takes a deep breath and steps towards the wall, and then takes a step as if there’s nothing there, eyes squeezed shut.

When she opens her eyes again, she has returned to the mansion side.

Her avatar being classified as an object - check.

She leaves, and when she speaks her name into the phone her voice is shaking.

* * *

Fear is a replacement for inspiration and it tells her to do something. And she has done so, and it has succeeded, and she thinks that even though this is just precaution that she has completed it anyways.

Working on the vacuum is a chore.

She doesn’t like how now, she feels like working on things is just a chore, and in the past, it was something to escape, something to do, something to feel and something that she enjoyed.

She doesn’t know when this shift happened.  

The killing game has changed her. She is not the same person she was when she fell out of the locker and started living in hell.

* * *

She gives Ouma the rundown of the simulation.

(She thinks, it’s the least she can do when she’s going to kill him.)

* * *

She presses the button to Shithara’s room. The buzzer makes sounds repeatedly and his “coming!” can be heard through the door.

She needs everybody to show up. She needs everybody there or else her plan will not work.

“Oi, Pooichi!” she shouts, “I need you to come with me…”

* * *

One by one, they log in, and she doesn’t put the headset on her head.

Instead, she finds herself staring at the body of Kokichi Ouma - alive, for now - and thinks, when this is done and over with he will be the first one to go.

Her hands are shaking and she tosses the poison onto his seat.

* * *

She thinks, she can stop this all if she wanted to.

She could just not do anything, not follow through with the plan and then nobody would die.

But at the same time, she could do something and then she would escape this hellhole.

She chews her lip. No, she thinks, she has to do this.

For the world. Because she is Miu fucking Iruma, and Miu fucking Iruma cannot die.

Because then the world would be in ruin; because the world cannot live without her inventions.

Because Miu Iruma wants to change the world.

She puts the headset on.

(Daybreak will not come for her.)

**Author's Note:**

> oughrg i've had this idea for a while and i finally? got around to writing it. haha. 
> 
> feel free to leave a kudo/comment - they're very appreciated!!
> 
> (next up for the series is either himiko or rantaro, but i might write a short kiiruma or shirotojo fic before that? who knows)
> 
> huge shoutout to jared (@take-to-thesky on tumblr) for reading this over!


End file.
